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Hermione Granger and the Bastet Collar	By : HunterOpera Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 53207 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: This is something, yes indeed. Discretion is advised. The characters, locations, plots, and tropes of Harry Potter and JK Rowling are not owned by me and have nothing to do with the mess I'm making in their sandbox. I make no money

Chapter List
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All feedback will be responded to over at http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/36931-metroid-the-bergman-affair-feedback-comments-and-workshopping/page-3 - just copy/pasta the link. There's a couple of things I'm experimenting with here writing-wise, and letting me know if that works would be very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

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“This is a mildly strange request.” The words were spoken with an acid drawl, black eyes smoldering with a barely constrained contempt. “Is your interest of a personal nature or is it, perhaps... academic?”

“I hardly see why that should be a concern of yours, potions master,” Delores responded, trying and failing to hold the man's gaze. Severus Snape simply stared at her, unmoving, his lips locked in a permanent scowl.

“Everything is a concern of mine.” He stood stock still, staring at her as if measuring the chemical composition of her body. It would have bothered her to know he was actually doing that very thing. “A Bastet Collar.”

“You know how to make one?” asked Delores, taking a seat. The man's scowl deepened, as if he'd been insulted.

“Of course I know how to make one.” He turned on his heel, stalking to his desk. “The ingredients are already prepared. I assume you know how to work a Bastet Collar...?” His tone left no doubt as to what he really thought.

“I've read about them.”

“Read about them.” He stopped at his desk, fingers reaching for the herbs that were needed. Some she recognized but most she didn't, the names of the eleven spices eluding her as he manipulated them. Crushed, smothered, liquified. He called up fire, the amber liquid in bowl crusting over. “A Bastet Collar is nothing to be trifled with.”

“I know the dangers,” said she, staring as the crusted amber became a fine dust. The potions master ignored her, lost in the delicate perfection of his work. The dust was distilled into a bowl, a long strip of leather placed within the confines of the dust.

“Avert your eyes,” Snape commanded. She did, hating him – she was the one in charge of the school but he was the one giving orders and he clearly cared as little for her as he did for everyone else. He poured a scarlet-gold liquid into the bowl and muttered something she didn't quite catch under his breath.

A moment later the bowl began to glow, the light flickering beautifully a few times before dying.

“Your collar.” He pulled the strip of leather from the bowl, held it towards her, the black pits of his eyes burning cold. She reached forth a trembling hand and took the strap from him.

“Thank you for your help, potions-”

“Quite.” He snarled the word, turned on his heel and stalked away from her. She scurried out of his room, clutching what he had made for her in her hand, looking down at it. She was sweating, shaking, had to stop and collect her breath.

How dare he challenge me like that, dismiss me like that? She was furious, her stride becoming stronger as she walked. The Dark Lord may favor him, but he's so, so improper. He should respect the proper authorities... if the Dark Lord didn't support him...

She would have loved to tear him down. She needed to tear him down, to break him, but though she knew he was too strong and talented for her she would never admit it; his strength offended her, his pure competency. Delores Umbridge could not hope to match Snape, though, or Dumbledore, or Bellatrix, or any of the other wizards and witches that thought they could step out of line, not as they were.

But there were children in her care, children she could teach before they grew into such unruly monsters, children than she would help make into productive members of society.

It was her duty, her responsibility. The satisfaction it gave her was only a secondary consideration.

“Ah, Mr. Filch.” Delores spotted the caretaker and moved towards him, smiling as the man cringed; here was a person that knew his station. “I wonder if you might send a message to Miss Hermione Granger? I must have words with her. You can? Thank you.”

The warmth Delores felt when she took her place in the headmistress' chambers was not quite pleasure, but it was as close as Delores was capable of feeling.

///

Hermione was no stranger to terror. With Harry and Ron she had faced down trolls, spiders, monsters the likes of which most adults would have run screaming from. She had looked into the face of fear itself, the Dementor, a creature that fed off dread by destroying reason and thought. All this she had done, but now she found herself frightened.

She knew what Headmistress Umbridge was doing to Harry. She'd seen the marks on his hands, heard the small pains that passed his lips whenever he had to use that hand. She knew that Headmistress Embridge had somehow managed to expel Dumbledore from his own school, ruining the archmage's reputation in the process.

And her bottom was still warm and crossed from the last time she had visited this room.

She bit her lip, shuffled her feet. She'd had to pass the Slytherin Hall on the way here and she'd caught Draco looking at her, leering at her, and she wondered what he though he knew. She pulled down on her skirt, straightened her blouse, took a deep though.

With trembling hand she reached and opened the door to whatever agony awaited her.

Headmistress Umbridge was sitting at the desk she had stolen from Dumbledore, her attention focused on something she was writing. Quiet as a mouse, Hermione made her way through the tempest of cats and took a seat, wincing a little as her bottom touched the cushion.

Umbridge ignored her and Hermione did not want to distract her, did not want her attention at all.

Seconds crawled by. Minutes. Hermione shifted, uncomfortable, sweating. Her hands left her lap, found the sides of the chair, cats looking up at her with curiosity and dismissing her in the same breath. Headmistress Umbridge didn't look at her. Hermione felt herself blushing, her heart beating faster as the minutes trickled by and nothing happened.

“Miss Granger.”

Hermione looked up. She wasn't sure when she'd started looking at the floor, or how much time had passed. Her neck hurt. Her muscles were stiff and her hands were shaking. Her feet were asleep and she couldn't bring herself to meet Headmistress Umbridge's eyes.

“Miss Granger, you rude little slip of a mudblood, I did not give you permission to enter this chamber or to sit in that chair.” The woman set her pen to one side, clasped her hands on the desk in front of her and smiled. “I see we will have to teach you some manners. A remedial class for the lying student. Get to your feet, girl, and then out to the hall. Close my door gently, then knock and wait for permission to enter.”

Hermione stared for a moment. She thought of saying something, anything in her defence, but the pain on her backside was still fresh enough that she did not want to risk this woman's wrath. Wincing, she stood on numb feet and walked with faltering steps to the door.

“Miss Granger.”

Hermione turned around.

“What do you say when one of your betters corrects you?”

She wanted to fight. Her wand was with her. She remembered her dueling classes, knew she was skilled. There were spells in that area that she had invented, and while she may not have been able to beat Harry she was certain she could beat the woman sitting behind Dumbledore's desk. Instead, she bowed her head and pulled on the hem of her skirt.

“Thank you, Headmistress.” Her voice was as quiet as her footsteps as she resumed padding to the door. Opening it, she stepped outside, closed it, knocked.

There was no response.

She thought about running but knew the curse would forbid her from doing so. She was a prisoner here, firmly stuck under the thumb of this woman. She thought about knocking, bit her lip, decided not to. She wished she was studying, reading. There were things she was working on. Ginny had been coming to her recently, looking into some old Egyptian spells. There were only a few dozen wizards or witches that could read hieroglyphs.

Hermione had taught herself when she was nine years old.

The door opened and Umbridge invited her in. She closed the door behind her and came to stand in front of the desk, stepping with nervous energy from one foot to the other. Her Headmistress did not give her permission to sit and she didn't want to risk this woman's quiet wrath. Cats swarmed around her feet, all staring at her, the woman staring at her. Hermione closed her eyes and waited for whatever horror was to come.

“You entered a superior's office and sat without permission,” Headmistress Umbridge began, her voice somehow cheery and polite. “We've already taught you to be better. I can see how easy it is for you to fake being such a good student.”

Hermione bit her tongue.

“But I think we need to drive that lesson home, as we have done before.” Headmistress Umbridge stood up, came around the desk. Hermione felt the warm hand on her cheek, lifting her face so that she had no choice but to look into the other woman's eyes. “Give me your wand. Good. Now, do you remember the position for correction I showed you before? It appears your mudblood heritage has not ruined your memory. You may grab the other end of the table, Miss Granger, if you remove all clothing from below your waist.”

“This isn't right,” whispered Hermione.

“What was that, Miss Granger?” The words were quiet, polite. Hermione said nothing. “I believe that will end you another ten lashings. You must understand, mudblood, that this is for your own good. I am your teacher and I will make you understand your place. Now, do as instructed or we will raise your lashings to forty.”

“F-forty?”

“Ten because you continue to lie to me about what you are.” The Headmistress crossed her arms and shook her head, expressing a tingling disappointment. “Ten for entering my office without permission, and ten for claiming a seat without asking. You must learn, Miss Granger. Your lie is that you're good at that.”

Hermione closed her eyes, quivering. She knelt to undo the buckles of her shoes, stood, looking down at herself. Her hands found the waistband of her skirt, undid the clasp, the scant protection fell away. Fingers pressed between tights and flesh until the fabric slipped past her thighs and tumbled down past her knees and calves.

“Fold your clothing, Miss Granger, and place it on that chair over there.”

Hermione moved to do as she was instructed when she felt a slap across her rear, making her yelp and drop her things. She turned and looked at her Headmistress with wide eyes.

“Be quick about it, mudblood. I have more important things to do than tend to the impropriety of one cheating girl.”

She wanted to fight but didn't. Instead, she moved with more speed than grace, folding her clothes and putting them on the chair, returning to the desk and bending over it, reaching over and grasping the far edge of wood. She felt fingers push up her blouse, tracing the line of her back, pushing the fabric up and exposing more of her. Trembling, moaning, Hermione waited.

Waited.

Smack

“Thank y-you, Headmistress, for correcting me,” whispered Hermione. The fingers on her back left her flesh and tangled in her hair between one heartbeat and the next.

“It is my job, Miss Granger.”

Smack

Her backside burned. She thanked Headmistress Umbridge for every swat along her cheeks and thighs, the abusive caress of pain along her calves. She was sobbing by the sixth stroke, screaming by the eleventh, lost count shortly thereafter.

Smack Smack Smack

She could feel liquid warmth on her inner thighs, feel the flush of her face. She told herself the rolling of her hips was because of the pain and nothing else, but she remembered what this same woman had forced Harry to write: I will not tell lies.

Not all the tears, she knew, were from the pain. Some of them were from what she was learning about herself.

Smack

The pain stopped. Gentle fingers pried hers from the edge of the wood. She slid off the table, huddling on her side as she found the floor. On some dim level she was aware that her Headmistress had pulled a chair close to her, had wrapped a hand in her hair. Hermione was pulled up, her legs screaming agony at her as her mistress forced her head to rest in her lap.

“There, there,” her mistress said. Hermione looked up, feeling the tears on her face, her throat a ruin from the screaming. “That was the first thirty.”

“F-firs...”

Her efforts to speak were as broken as she felt.

“First thirty, yes.” Headmistress Umbridge shook her head, stroking Hermione's hair. “You failed to thank your teacher for the instruction in folding your clothing or for the explanation of your instruction. Clearly, another twenty spankings are in order.”

If she could have fought right then she would have. She was the most gifted witch of a dozen or more generations, a genius that even Dumbledore and Voldemort could respect. Swallowing, shaking, she knew that even without the curse binding her that the beating she had suffered and cost her too much; in her current condition she couldn't have beaten Ron, never mind this horrible woman.

“P-ple...”

Her attempts at speaking were pathetic, even to her own ears, but she had to try: she knew that another twenty swats on her already mangled arse would kill her.

“Well, there might be another way for such a darling little girl.” The words were a lie, a trap. They had to be. Logically, she knew this, but logic and reason were lost to her right then. “A simple little thing. Would you rather...? Yes? Very well. Stand.”

She struggled to do even that, the cool sir slipping around her naked bottom.

“Good girl,” Headmistress Umbridge cooed. “Now, darling little mudblood, I want you to remove the rest of your clothing.”

Hermione looked at the older woman, shocked. A swat against her bottom caused her to stagger and fall to her knees, weeping and hugging herself.

“Trust in your betters, girl. Remember?”

“Th-thank y-you, Headmistress, f-for c-correcting me.”

The words were as ragged as the rest of her. She fought to stand, courage driving her to her feet when nothing else would. Trembling fingers found the buttons on her blazer, the tie around her neck, the buttons on her blouse. She folded everything, remembering the lessons she had learned, placing all she had lost with the rest of her clothing.

Tsk. She cringed, looking at her Headmistress. Shaking, her arms twisted around her back. She unclasped her bra, gasping as cold air suckled at her fully exposed flesh. She let the last protection she had fall away from her, joining the rest of what she had been forced to discard.

“Posture, Miss Granger.” Headmistress Umbridge was walking around her, tracing a line across her exposed waist with her own wand. “Back straight, hands at your side. Like that, yes. When you're waiting for one of your betters, this is the posture you assume.”

“Y-yes, Headmistress. Thank you, H-headmistress.”

Smack

“You're welcome, mudblood.” Headmistress Umbridge moved the chair she had been sitting in behind Hermione. The girl heard her sit, settle, make herself comfortable. She could almost feel the other woman's closeness, the sick heat of her body temperature. “Kneel.”

She did.

“Good girl.” A hand moved into her periphial vision, holding what looked like a black length of leather. Scarlet streaks of amber ran along the length, moving like smoke or liquid. “Place this around your neck.”

“W-what...?”

Smack

“If you'd prefer the thirty spankings, Miss Granger, I would be happy to give them to you.”

When she trusted herself to move again, Hermione knelt back up and took the leather from her Headmistress' hands. She thanked the older woman, staring down at the leather, wondering why it looked familiar. There was a sigh behind her.

“The spankings, then?”

Fingers claimed either side of the strip, her hands quickly wrapping the leather around her throat. There was no clasp but she felt something click and then

everything

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Hermione Granger and the Bastet Collar